To Look at Him Now
by OleandersThrive
Summary: Set during 'The End'. Cas is riding in the truck with Past Dean and reminiscing to himself of Dean Now. Cas/Dean Pairing. Cas POV. Lemon.


To look at him now always hurts. A hurt deep within that I've no clue on how to deal. Three years of being human, and I was still such an Angel. I wallowed in human pleasures once I found out how enjoyable they were. But it wasn't always like this. It wasn't always my glazed eyes boring into his. His, that use to be the green of the earth my Father had so carefully created, and now woefully abandoned. Now the green was of emerald stone. Striking, sharp, and utterly, completely cold. So cold since Sam uttered that one word in Detroit.

I remember picking up where he and Sam left off all those years ago when he told Sam to stay away. I searched fruitlessly for my Father, and then it became the Colt. Everything was about the Colt. I should have seen the smooth changes in him then. The separation from Sam, from his little brother, some could even call Sam his child, was killing the man in front of me. The righteous man was falling so far and so fast, caught in flames, and I was helpless but to watch. I was an Angel then, I was bleeding human emotions into my soul, but I had not yet grasped them. I was at a loss for my wonderful, beautiful, and damaged charge.

I lit the cigarette that hung in my lips, and chuckled softly at the shocked face of Past Him. When his eyes thought I could have the answers to the world, and that everything could be healed. The him that still had faith in humans although he had no faith in god. He had believed then. How odd that belief is so weak a conviction. Conviction like fire, something that's so hot and bright and comforting, but easily drenched in the waters of truth, or the wind of desolation.

"What happened to you?" He asks of me. I felt the doped grin stretch my face. It felt funny. Which made my cracked lips spread wider.

"Life." I ground out, with the faithless gravel of an Angel, no, a human. His eyes widened in surprise. I felt a dirty satisfaction from the look in his eyes. Was it because I got a reaction at all? He used to be so responsive. To music, to people, to life…to me. Now it was always business. A plan of action, a means to an end. 'I'm just well-fed.' Springs to my mind from that lifetime ago. If he wasn't well-fed then, he was now. But now he didn't have to care, he didn't have to attach anything to it.

I remember when Sam said yes, and the Angels left. He screamed and screamed until his voice was coughed gravel and blood for Michael to take him. To give him back his baby, his reason. I've lived from the start of time, I watched the destruction of civilizations, the genocides of entire races, the falls of kingdoms, but never was I so terrified of watching the desolation and utter blackness of grief engulf the man on the forest ground in front of me.

I was still the ever-watchful. A habit I never got rid of, he found a good use for it. I had sentry duty almost every night. Although I was mortal, I was still born from the soul of Angel, he use to call it left-over mojo. Anyway, I was always more attuned to things around me. Be it people, demons, croats, or even the weather. I always felt the shift and shimmer of the differences, even though I no longer saw the light.

I remember about 3 months since Sam's consent and no news, he showed up on my cabin's doorstep. I could smell the liquor on him. Sour and sharp against my nose. It was summer, hot and humid, and I remember I was still not yet comfortable with the body, my body. Jimmy had long since disappeared. My stolen t-shirt stuck to the back of my neck, and the shorts where oddly airy in comparison to Jimmy's old black slacks. He stumbled in, the screen door slapping behind him as he leaned against the door jam. In order to save energy, the people of the camp were only to use candle light at night, unless it was an emergency. I could only see his silhouette in the dark, the bulkiness of his jacket was gone. He was breathing heavy, choked sounds. I saw his arm move up to his face, and heard the wet sound of him taking a drink of whatever it was that night.

"Cas…" He muttered, low and rough. He stumbled forward into me, the momentum pushing my buckling knees against the bed. We fell, his broad body a heavy weight on top of my thin frame. I kept forgetting to eat. Another thing I was not yet use to then. The hand that wasn't clutching the brown bottle slide up my side, coasting along my ribs, as his nose dove in the crevice where my shoulder and neck met. Even with the heat permeating everywhere, I felt a hot blush rise against my human cheeks. "You're so skinny, man."

I put a hand against his shoulder, my shoulder, to try to push him off. I felt his lips curl in the sensitive skin on my neck as his hand kept rubbing up and down the length of my side. I shivered involuntarily. I didn't understand the pooling in my chest, or why my heart had sped up its beats. I tried to lift myself again, the human fight or flight response kicking in. The bottle clattered to the floor and his other hand grasped my other side. He pressed down on top of me, just running his hands over my entire torso. Why couldn't I get enough air? I thought. Why didn't I want him to stop?

The lips and nose so wonderfully nuzzled against the skin of my neck and began doing things to me I didn't understand. The short hot puffs of air against my goose bumped skin was hypnotizing, his nose thumbing my earlobe. I gave a near inaudible squeak, my eyes closing of their own volition. "Cas, just…just let me…stay." He whispered against my ear, desperate, sad, wanting, needing, "Just for a while."

I could never deny him anything.

His mouth was blazing hot against my already sensitive flesh. Teeth and tongue pressing and nipping, and I felt my hips moving against him. I needed something. I just knew I needed something. Him. Everything he wanted to give me. His wide hands pushed up the sweat damp t-shirt and threw it to the dusty floor, and then his mouth was back on me. His lips trailed down, his voice thrumming soft hums of approval whenever I arched or gasped in certain places. When I moaned throatily at particular sensitive spots, he became torturous and stayed there for a few more moments than necessary, promptly turning me from a fallen angel to a pool of singed-wing desire.

I don't remember how, but soon I was lying atop of him, our bare skin hot and sweaty. The heady smell of arousal assaulting my nose, my mouth was devouring his. His tasted mildly of the whiskey, that I successfully identified, but mostly he just tasted so good. There was no distinct flavor. Maybe it was the taste of life? The pucker of smiles, the bitter taste of frowns. He tasted so blessedly human. So despairingly sad.

His fingers trailed up and down my spine, making goose bumps and shiver despite the sweltering heat. His thumbs tracing circles in the dips of my sharp hips. "You're too skinny." He muttered against my lips.

I did not care of anything but the human beneath at that moment. The borrowed boxers I wore were becoming stifling, and my brain couldn't catch up. But my body was yearning for something. I made a needy noise against his mouth, his lips curling again and his hand dove through the strands of my hair. He tugged, and I groaned. My head pulled back far enough for his lips to assault my throat once more. Over the throbbing jugular his lips bite and sucked, his armed wrapped tightly around my waist, hand clenched in my hair. I moaned into the heady air. He was marking me, making me his. And it was so sinfully delicious.

He rolled me underneath him once more on the small bed. The old springs creaking from the weight of two full grown men. His lips were stilled attached to that one spot, driving me mad, making the skin so sensitive it was beginning to hurt. His hand in my hair tugged back harder, I felt the pinpricks of water well up behind my eyes. It hurt, but why did it feel so good to hurt? His lips finally released my skin, and he leaned up into the muffled dark. The light of the moon was showing softly into the dusty cabin, I could see a faint smirk as he stared at his handy work. It only made my lower region ache.

I felt his fingers hook into the boxers and shimmy off me. His disappearing too. The heat of his thighs between mine felt too at home. Too right. Too…something. His hand reached down between and took my length in his hand, making one long pump and swiping a thumb across the head. I moaned from deep withing my chest, sounding more gravel then voice. "Jesus Cas, keep that up…" He never finished his sentence.

His hand just kept moving, and I just held on for my mortal life. I must've dented the weak wood of the headboard with my nails with how much pleasured stress I felt. There was nothing but pressure and heat, all around me, from every angle and side. All of it was from him. Wasn't there science classes that said explosions were the result of such high heat and pressure? I certainly felt like I was going to. His hand twisted and went faster only to slow down and squeeze. I was panting in the already over heated room. I felt that needy sound slip past my vocal cords again and I got a nail bedded squeeze on my hip for it.

His mouth was on mine once more. His tongue wet and strong, taking what he wanted from me. He didn't have to take it, I would've given it to him freely. I still trust him to this day. May not be with my life, but _for_ my life; whatever was left of it. Him of today is far gone from him of that night. He was so broken that night, but so much of him was still there. The cocky smirks, the colloquialisms, the heat. He had always been so present, so warm. Now he may have exuded the heat of a furnace, but that was all the cold rage giving off heat as a byproduct. Touch his skin now and he was cold.

His hand had slid under me, I hadn't even noticed being preoccupied with his lips. I hissed into his mouth when he inserted the first finger gracelessly. His eyes gleamed a mild apologetic look, but he didn't do words. He did actions. He worked me open slow, after that first intrusion. His lips never ceasing against my skin. White hot kisses along my throat, blowing them cool. His unoccupied hand was running soothing movements up and down sides, massaging my hips, a thumb grazing a nipple. I hissed and moaned and arched into everything. His now two fingers a crooked and grazed something within me that had me bite my own lip in frustrations and ground my hips down onto his fingers. A lightening shock of something terrifying and so good flittering across all my nerves.

"Hold out for me," He whispered into my ear, I panted at his low growl. "It's gonna get so much better." His finger purposely slid over that spot again. I whimpered, I felt a bead of sweat on my forehead roll towards the mattress. I needed something so bad. "What do you want, Cas? Tell me." He demanded.

I shook all over, my hands clenching his shoulders to keep me grounded, surely gravity was going to stop working. "Tell me." He whispers again. I groan and rock my hips against him. My voice couldn't work couldn't work. Couldn't he see that?

He nuzzled under my ear, practically radiating with masculine pride. I could lick the sexual tension of his skin. "What do you need, Cas?"

"You." I ground out, unflinching. There were things I was learning to want, but had yet to grasp the meaning of. But need? I was sure I could not live without him. I fell for him. I would fall again. I would break the doors of Hell once more. I would defy every Father. I would resurrect every mother, brother, and friend. I needed Dean Winchester.

That seemed to be answer enough for him, because then I felt the tip of him pressing against me. He brought my wrists above my head, and held them against the mattress with one of his. His free hand stroking through my thick hair. I was shaking again. "Shh, you need to relax." He murmured. I tried, I concentrated on loosing every taunt muscle in my body. He pushed forward a little further. I groaned in pain.

It was foreign feeling, but not wrong. It just hurt. A sharp pain, then dull ache. He looked into my eyes. I realized it was only the second time since we started that he had. With his green boring into my blue, I felt complacent. I could stay there forever if it was required of me. He pushed further into me, inch by slow painful inch. His eyes never breaking from mine. His free hand continued its temptation across my body: relaxing circles, soothing stretches across my ribs, a sure grip of my hips, steadying me.

When he was fully inside me he exhaled fully, letting his weight rest atop mine. The pain wasn't so bad now, just background noise. I was tingling with an overload of sensations. I had never _felt _so much before. So much hot skin, so much slick sweat, sweet kisses, pleasurable pain. I shifted my hips up, and he groaned throatily against my collar bone. I _really_ liked that sound. I ground up again, that heat from previously returning to me ten-fold. This need to be fulfilled, he could give it to me.

He started thrusting into me slowly at first, making use to the sensation. The pain fading into the back of head, the pleasure of the heat, the smell of him, him just being everywhere. I should have known when I was assigned; that this human was going to be the beginning and the end of me. He was never a patient man, but he had been so all through getting me prepared. Suddenly his hips snapped, thrusting into me hard. I moaned hotly against his neck. This mixture of pain and pleasure, it was so good. It made me feel it all. He thrusted harder, his hand reaching between our slick chests to grasp my length. I gasped his name. "Keep doing that." He said. I'd no idea how to stop.

He let go of my wrists. He didn't need to hand on to them anymore. They were twisted in the sweets holding on for whatever cliff I was reaching. He kept sliding over and over that spot that made made me blink white. He leaned up on his elbow, his hand working furiously in pace with his harsh thrusting. My back hurt from how much it was being bent, but I couldn't stop. I just wanted more of him. "Dean…I…I don't…what…," I was stuttering between moans and gasps. I was hedging on to something, it felt terrifying, it felt so close. Something was so close.

"Just let go, Cas." His hand gave a particular twist, and I was blind. The light bulbs in the room flashed and burst. The windows cracked. I came hard between our stomachs, white hot spurts leaking all over his hand. He grunted a few more times before I felt his heat fill me. His teeth latched onto my collar bone. The grouch of my name on his lips. My tender skin between the incisors. He collapsed on top of me.

Our breathing rested from full heaving to quiet puffs. Neither one of us had said a word yet. His broad hands were clutching onto my rib cage. His forehead resting in the dip of my throat. His head tilted up and looked into my eyes hesitantly. I'm still sure my eyes were glazed from that particular orgasm. It was my greatest.

I remember him dragging one of shirts from the floor to clean us up, and then leant over the bed to start putting on his clothes again. I panicked. I wrapped my arms around his torso hurriedly. "Don't leave." My voice was barely a whisper; it was a breath against the skin of his neck. I didn't see his face, but he nodded and laid down beside me, he faced away from me. I curled around his body. My arm around his waist, my legs tangling with his.

By the time I woke up the next morning. He was gone.

And that had continued for a little over a year. Everyone knew for a while who I belonged to. I knew he slept with others. Only women though, I was the only man. I took pride in that fact. I never looked to change the strange creature I fell for, I knew he was mine. From the moment I pulled him from the pit, to him marking me that first time. It didn't need to be exclusive, because emotionally it was. At least, until it wasn't it.

I had Past Him take over driving. I was feeling nostalgic and lethargic. Considering I was riding toward my death I found it completely okay to be going down memory lane. I looked over at Past Him. He is so beautiful. He never believed it. Physically yes, he knew he was beautiful. But it was his soul that made me so thoroughly fucked. I, the oddball of the Angel garrisons, fell for the righteous man. Maybe that was supposed to be how it was written. I was glad I got to see Past Him before I died. It was a small prayer answer, a blessing in disguise. I just wanted to see him the way he was one last time. Because now, to look at him now, always hurts. A hurt deep within that I've still no clue on how to deal. Three years of being human, and I was still such an Angel.


End file.
